Elena stood in front of the bathroom mirror in only the soft shirt from earlier, staring at the faint shiny trails still visible across her collarbones and the upper curves of her breasts. The hickey sat dark and unmistakable beneath a thin dried film of him. She had not washed any of it off. Marcus had told her not to, and the order had settled into her like something physical.

He appeared in the doorway behind her, already dressed for the day in dark jeans and a black sweater. His eyes moved over her reflection with quiet satisfaction.

“You’re going to class,” he said.

Elena met his gaze in the...